


Misery Loves Company

by jucee



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: M/M, crack (so much crack)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jucee/pseuds/jucee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waya was going to kill Shindou for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery Loves Company

Waya was going to kill Shindou for this.

Really.

Maybe.

Well, probably not, since he was pretty sure that go pros couldn’t play title games from prison, but he could probably maim Shindou? A bit of maiming sounded good. Just as soon as he extricated himself from this incredibly uncomfortable situation, he would go to his parents’ house and dig up his dad’s old katana and give it a good sharpening, then he’d head over to Shindou’s apartment and chop off some body parts. There was no point in cutting off his head, since he never used it. So maybe he’d chop off a few fingers, then Shindou wouldn’t be able to hold go stones with his hands looking like bloody stumps.

A laugh so creepy that he scared even himself escaped Waya’s lips before he slapped his hand over his mouth, and coughed into it like he needed to clear his throat.

Ashiwara didn’t even notice.

“--then he said he would leave me for a younger, prettier go player, maybe an insei who would be all starry-eyed over him, and you know now that I think about it this isn’t the first time he’s said something like that, but before I thought he was joking, because he has this little problem with his ego, you know? Like it’s much too big for a man who wears a white suit with an orange tie. And I mean, aren’t I starry-eyed enough for him? I’m starry-eyed! You know, it’s possible that he’s just annoyed because I wouldn’t wear that frilly pink dress he brought home last weekend--”

Waya made a strangled noise at the back of his throat, and coughed into his hand again.

Ashiwara didn’t even pause for breath.

“--but then _he_ didn’t wear the bunny suit I bought for him last Christmas--”

Shindou was so dead.

“--even though it was white, and he likes white, right? And it was so soft, I just wanted to see what it felt like against my skin while we, you know--”

Dead. Dead dead dead.

“--but oh, you probably don’t want to know all the details, right? Sorry, I just get a bit carried away sometimes, I’m sure you know how it is since you’re with, um, Isumi-kun, isn’t it? Actually, I think he was one of the insei that Seiji had his eye on a while back, and you know, he really is prettier and younger than me, oh my god I’m _twenty-four years old_ already and I bet he’s out in Shinjuku right now picking up some sixteen-year-old high school-dropout prostitute because I’m too old for him.”

Ashiwara suddenly began to cry, big wrenching sobs that made his face go frighteningly red and blotchy. And as if that wasn’t enough, he launched himself at Waya, ostensibly to cry on his shoulder but really to smear snot across Waya’s t-shirt.

Waya rather felt like crying too.

Ashiwara had first knocked on his door half an hour ago, looking meek and timid and not at all mentally unstable, which was why Waya had let him in even though they’d never exchanged anything more than hellos and goodbyes before then. He’d offered Ashiwara some cranberry juice or bottled green tea or tap water, because that was all he had, but Ashiwara had said no, thank you, still looking meek and timid and not at all mentally unstable. Which, unfortunately, hadn’t lasted.

Waya had only begun to ask, “So, what can I--” when Ashiwara suddenly started talking, and talking, and becoming much less mentally stable than Waya was altogether comfortable with.

Somewhere along the way he’d figured out from the unending stream of too much information that he hadn’t been Ashiwara’s first stop this evening, but Shindou had turned him away at the door, claiming that Touya was laid up in bed with a cold and it would really be too bad if Ashiwara-san caught it too, why don’t you go over to see Waya, he was a really good listener back when I was having problems with my heterosexuality until he pointed out that the problem was that it didn’t actually exist, so I’m sure he could help you figure out your problems with Ogata-sensei too?

Just the thought of the smirk that would’ve been on Shindou’s face as he’d said that made Waya grind his teeth together, until he remembered: katana, bloody stump hands, possibly death. That cheered him up a little bit, but didn’t really solve the problem of Ashiwara and the bodily fluids currently soaking into Waya’s shirt.

“Uh, Ashiwara-san?” Waya muttered, and patted him on the shoulder in a manly comforting sort of way.

His response was a loud snore.

“Ashiwara-san, please don’t be asleep,” Waya said, raising his voice slightly but not squeaking in panic, no. He grabbed the shoulder now and shook it, more roughly than was entirely polite between near-strangers. But desperate times, and all that. 

When he still received no response, he flopped down wearily on to his back, and winced when Ashiwara’s head flopped down with him, landing heavily on his stomach. He closed his eyes, then promised himself that as soon as he extricated himself from this incredibly uncomfortable situation, some maiming was definitely in order.

And since when had he been going out with Isumi, anyway?


End file.
